


Kingfisher

by Sol1056



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, Experimental Style, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-07
Updated: 2004-11-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sol1056/pseuds/Sol1056
Summary: The lights are too bright, and Duo squeezes his eyes shut, hearing explosions and screams and the wreckage of bodies against the darkness. He wants to laugh, to make a joke, to break out of the dream, to remind the characters around him that this is only a story, and in the end, the hero will awaken the princess from her enchanted sleep. He waits for someone to awaken him.





	1. Cheats Us From Afar

_"They say that Hope is happiness—_  
_But genuine Love must prize the past"_  
— Lord Byron

 

 

Once upon a time, he thinks, and rubs his nose, yawning, before draping his arms over his head. The dream is distant, bleary, and he reaches for it, seeing blue skies and something he needs to find, to discover, that incessant quality of all dreams. His search is frantic, compelled by a shrieking in the background.

Duo comes awake, blinking rapidly, and scrambles for his phone before registering his own movements. Papers are knocked off onto the floor, and two wrenches go flying off his desk. His phone continues to ring, and he slams his fist down on the main button.

"Maxwell," he says, and blinks at the screen. There's sleep in his eyes; he figures he was probably drooling. His reflection on the dark screen shows his bangs are sticking up on one side, and he tries to straighten himself up while he waits for the call to connect. Must be from Earthside, he thinks; the delay is almost a minute.

"Chang here," Wufei says, his face appearing, broken by lines of static across empty space. "Emergency."

"Hunh," Duo replies, still half-asleep. The call's damned expensive, even for Preventers.

"Relena and Heero. Sending email." Wufei cuts the line. The recorded message ends.

Duo sighs and pushes away from the desk, logging into the yard's old desktop. He taps his fingers on the desk while waiting for the intricate decryption program to launch; he's still protective of his personal files, and the computer has become a bit too popular with Hilde's crew for Duo to be comfortable letting even his web browsing habits become public knowledge.

He ignores the mass emails, notes that Hilde has forwarded the next transit list, sighs at the latest missive from Hilde's accountant, and opens the email from Wufei.

It takes five seconds to read, a full minute to comprehend, another ten seconds to reread at a slower pace. He's out the door in thirty seconds.

 

 

 

The shuttle station is crowded, and Duo paces in the ship, waiting anxiously for his flight window. Hilde's explained it's an emergency, and he knows the boys will do their best to shove them up to the front of the line. Every law of physics tells him that he's not getting to Earth sooner than eighteen hours from launch to landing, but every second wears at him. He's out of touch while he's in the station; the security prevents lines from interfering with the station's systems.

Duo growls, kicks a panel, and glares when the panel pops off to reveal an extra supply of socks. He can leave them, but they'll do nothing but float about, so he clumsily pushes them back into place and slams the panel shut.

He remains there, on his knees, and stares down at his callused fingers. There are grease stains from an engine rebuild. A paper cut from sorting through the bills on Hilde's desk. A bruise from a fight, on his left knuckles; his hand ached for several days. He flexes the hand, and considers punching something. Maybe the guys at the control tower.

"Scheibeker, Shuttle XF-883-T-09, you're cleared," a familiar voice says.

"Roger," Duo replies, but Hilde's gotten to the pilot's seat first.

She begins the flight systems check; over her shoulder, Duo notes the docking bay he's been granted. His normal thirst for conversation has been quenched; he thinks if he talked, he'd repeat Wufei's email, as he has for the past half-hour, only this time it would be out loud.

"Appreciate it, guys," Hilde says.

"We heard," comes back the tower. "Give our love to the little lady."

"Yeah." She finishes the systems check, while Duo buckles into the seat behind her. He wants to pilot, but his hands are shaking. He wants to be there now.

"Ready for the catapult," Hilde tells the tower.

"Tow moving into place." There's a familiar thunk, and the shuttle shifts on its moorings, then begins to move forward. The small craft before Duo's main window carries two figures; one turns and waves.

Duo doesn't wave back. He takes a deep breath, and wonders about breaking the laws of physics.

 

 

 

He does the math when they land at Bremen, screaming down the runway with a disregard for the tower's pleas that they observe the port's safety regulations. The inter-colonial space lanes had been jammed with shuttles. They had to navigate by eye and heart, rather than slow down into the lane and let the computer navigate, a slow trail from floating landmark to floating landmark.

In the darkness of space, with the moon behind him and the earth a growing globe before him, Duo counted off the seconds as though it were a constant countdown to the final moment. He recalls coming this way, four years before, and his heart thuds weakly in his chest. Time was all that mattered, then. Time is all that matters now, too.

Bremen's security forces are streaming out of the hangar towards his shuttle, and Duo's relieved to see a Preventer's motorcycle cop pull up, followed by a cop car. Duo grabs his pack, shouldering it and tightening the straps, while Hilde locks down the shuttle. The hatch slides shut behind them. Dropping to the tarmac, Duo's surprised when the motorcycle cop takes a half second to flip up his own visor.

"Long time no see," Trowa says. Hilde gives him a quick hug, and heads for the Preventer officer waiting by the car.

Duo hesitates, thinking to follow Hilde, then climbs on behind Trowa. Duo considers waving to the shuttle security guards, but Trowa predictably is ready with comment.

"Don't piss off the hosts," Trowa murmurs, voice muffled through the helmet, and guns the motorcycle anyway.

"Don't piss off the Gundam pilot," Duo shoots back.

Trowa cuts off the Preventer officer's vehicle and laughs softly; there's no humor in the sound. He guns the engine, and they roar across the tarmac. Out the exit, Preventer's badge flashed, onto the highway, and down the four lanes cutting the yellow line.

Follow the yellow brick road, Duo thinks, and wonders where that phrase came from. Sister Helen used to say it, when she teased him about starting a path with only a faint hope that the end would bring success. He figures that applies to most of his life, and tightens his hold on Trowa's waist as the slim motorcycle speeds between stalled vehicles.

The highway divides, and Trowa turns off an exit, coming down the ramp so fast the two almost scrape knee. Duo bends easily with the curve, tucked in behind Trowa's lean body. He understands the laws of physics, he thinks, and he hates them with a passion. Knowing his adversary has never done him much good. Knowing he's beaten before he started was never something that appealed to him.

The city reeks, a heavy pall sifting in through the visor, of car fumes and cigarette smoke and urine and exhaust; the heavy summer heat weighs down every movement. Duo shuts his eyes against the sun glinting off every silver window, every metal beam stretching up fifty stories. The city may glow in the sunshine, but the dark clouds overhead are pollution and darkness in mid-day.

"Hold on," Trowa says. "Just hold on... "

Duo doesn't bother to respond. He holds on, and lets Trowa move them through traffic with the agility of an acrobat leaping and twisting away from oncoming knives. They move down the centerline, angling through an intersection and pulling up to the city's main hospital.

Trowa flips up his visor as a hospital security guard approaches. Duo slides off the back of the bike; down the street, he can see the Preventers' vehicle arriving with Hilde in the back.

"Miss Darlian-Peacecraft is still in surgery," the guard is explaining.

"Thanks." Duo doesn't wait. Inside, and down the hallway following signs to the O.R. A small part of his brain is amused to see the hospital has provided colored lines on the floor for confused patrons: blue to the children's wing, green to the intensive care unit, yellow to the operating rooms. It makes sense, somehow, but he pays it no mind.

 

 

 

The doctors have been speaking for several minutes, but Duo's lost track of their words. Wufei and Quatre had risen at his entrance, but had no news other than Relena was back in surgery. Heero is in ICU, but no visitors allowed, so they wait for news of Relena. There are guards positioned around the waiting room. Duo cracks his knuckles and considers telling them to leave if they're not family.

One glance from Quatre, and Duo simmers down - he knows the phrase, he hears it enough from Hilde - and the doctors continue to drone. Quatre is nodding, as if he understands all of it; Wufei is frowning and staring at a point somewhere through one of the doctors. Duo exhales through gritted teeth, finally unable to remain silent.

Gimme all that in Standard, he starts to say.

Wufei beats him to it. "Translate," he orders the head doctor.

The doctor pauses, and nods slowly, offering the men a sympathetic smile. Duo refuses to take it, and glares.

"Miss Darlian-Peacecraft suffered a mild concussion, two fractured ribs, broken collarbone, and her hipbone and femur were shattered. Her internal injuries are severe but we've stabilized her." The doctor flipped through a sheet, nodding at something before continuing. "She had been stabilized, but suffered a reaction to one of the medications, and had a stroke, followed by a heart attack, at which point we brought her back into surgery. She's currently on breathing support, and is being moved back to the Intensive Care Unit."

A light footstep, almost imperceptible, then a second set. Duo knows Trowa and Hilde are behind them.

"Heero?" Duo gives Quatre and Wufei a puzzled look.

"The other passenger in the car," Quatre says, looking at the doctor, but he seems to be speaking for the benefit of the latecomers. "What news on him?"

"Heero Yuy?" The doctor looks at a second man, older; there's a fingerprint smudge on one lens of his glasses.

"Mr Yuy is already at the ICU, with spinal injuries and traumatic brain injury. The investigators at the scene have finished their preliminary report, which indicates that he turned at the point of collision, towards Miss Darlian-Peacecraft. At the moment of impact, then, he was thrown forward and then back against his own side window. He's still unconscious."

Duo waits. The room is silent, except for the anxious shuffle of a guard's feet, somewhere behind Duo.

"There are possibilities of any of a number of injuries," the doctor continues, softer. "Most are pretty severe, given his position and the speed at impact. We won't know until he wakes."

Duo exhales, slowly, and Quatre sighs as well. Wufei's head lowers, until his chin is against his chest.

"In fact," the doctor says, removing his glasses and polishing them, "I must be honest. We don't know if he _will_ wake."

There's more being said, being heard, words moving around Duo in a daze, and he wonders if he's still asleep at his desk with a transit record pasted to his forehead, drooling on a set of old wrenches. The lights are too bright, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hearing explosions and screams and the wreckage of bodies against the darkness. He wants to laugh, to make a joke, to break out of the dream, to remind the characters around him that this is only a story, and in the end, the hero will awaken the princess from her enchanted sleep. He waits for someone to awaken him.

"Sit," Wufei orders, and it's good enough, Duo decides.

The four remain in the waiting room, reluctant to move despite the guards departing to stand outside Relena's and Heero's doors, somewhere else in the depths of the hospital. Hilde goes with the guards, but Duo remains with the other pilots. The room is not a sanctuary, nor is it particularly inviting, but it's a moment suspended where they wait.

Duo's been at that moment before, and he watches Trowa stand by the window into the empty operating room. Quatre is leaning forward, head in his hands; Wufei is by the wall, arms crossed, head down. Duo leans back and stares up at the ceiling, and it feels like the refrain of a song, the repetition of a moment, that strange sense in dreams where he knows he's dreamed this before, but can't place the time or memory.

"Let's go," Quatre says, standing. He doesn't say where, or why, but the rest follow him without question.

 

 

 

Duo isn't there when Relena regains consciousness; he's sleeping at the Bremen quarters for ambassadorial staff. It's Relena's apartment when she's in town, and there are a hundred little touches that remind him that he doesn't belong. The rooms are light green, austere, elegant, and the carpet is plush white. Even his socks look dirty against that purity, but the sofa is comfortable, if a little short.

He's drinking coffee when the call arrives, Quatre's exhausted voice is leaving a message, reporting Relena is awake enough to move her fingers in response to stimuli. She's still on the breathing apparatus, and can't speak. It's Wufei's turn to see Heero, for ten minutes. The ICU doesn't allow them to stay for longer, though Heero isn't aware of their presence.

Or maybe he is, Duo had thought the day before, but there's no change on the heart monitor. The IV drips, steady, water torture for the observer, and Duo had studied it for the duration of ten minutes, his hands cradling Heero's chilled fingers. When the nurse came, Duo left without a word.

Now, he dips a finger into the coffee, swirling it around, and thinks of Heero's cold hands. The older face, a few lines around the eyes that hadn't been there before; Duo had noted two or three gray hairs at Heero's temples, and thought to tease Heero before he remembered Heero was somewhere past sleeping.

No kiss wakes you from this dream, he tells the coffee silently.

He dumps the coffee, rinses the cup, and decides to let Hilde sleep longer; she can hear the message after she's rested more. She'll have to return soon to L2, but he doesn't want to go home, to his little apartment full of spare parts, to his job fixing and breaking and sorting and organizing, to the endless paperwork that Hilde loves so much. He wants to stay in this moment, where he can continue to hope that Heero will wake up, might wake up, in that precious moment, when it's still possible the spell can be broken.

 

 

 

Two weeks, and Duo is with Quatre and Wufei when Trowa calls with the news. Heero's awake, and the doctors are running a battery of tests. At the hospital, they ignore the security guards, letting Wufei flash his Preventer's badge. Down the lines, green arrows on the floor, and Duo runs behind his old partners, avoiding the crowded ancient elevators.

Seven flights of stairs; Trowa's waiting by the doors, not near the elevators. He smirks when Duo looks sly, and shrugs, but it seems forced.

Outside Heero's room, the guards stand when Wufei approaches, and it's several minutes before a nurse can locate the lead doctor to inform them of the prognosis. Duo keeps moving towards the door, shifting away again only when the nurse catches his movement.

"Aphasic, with decreased muscle strength on the right side of his body," the doctor is saying.

Duo realizes his hand is on the door to Heero's room. He backs away, trying to focus on the doctor. It's not the same as before; Duo wonders if the doctors are interchangeable.

"Two epileptic attacks already, which are common for a head injury," the doctor continues. "We've run CRTs and MRIs, which indicate possible DAI. His level on the Glasgow Coma Scale is severe, but his medical records indicate a young man with considerable stamina."

"DAI?" Quatre interrupts.

"Diffuse Axonal Injury," the doctor says. He moves his clipboard, and his nametag is revealed.

Boris, Duo reads.

"The brain is a soft organ inside a bone shell. During some injuries, the brain is not only slammed against one wall of the skull and then back again - resulting in two equal injuries opposite each other - but also twisted. This rotational action along the axis creates a shearing of the neuronal pathways in the brain's position against the skull."

"Still not in Standard," Wufei scoffs. "What does it mean?"

"It means that the injuries are possibly permanent, and that Mr Yuy is going to be in therapy for several years."

Duo blinks, shakes his head. "This is the guy—"

"He survived self-destructing his own damn Gundam," Wufei says, interrupting. "One head bump isn't—"

"In that situation, he landed on his shoulder, which absorbed much of the fall, however great," Doctor Boris responds. "I've spoken with Mr. Barton, and seen Mr Yuy's medical records. This is entirely different. This is a head trauma, and we still don't fully understand why one concussion will result in a mild headache, but another will... " The man stops, frowning. "Sirs, your friend cannot speak, and cannot understand language. That ability will come back, slowly, and better with speech therapy. He cannot remember anything for longer than several minutes, but this type of short-term memory damage often fades as the brain learns to retrace its neuronal pathways in the course of recovery."

Duo closes his eyes. Good, good, good; Heero will be back in one piece. He's a tough bastard. If anyone will pull through, Heero will.

 

 

 

Another week, of waiting; Duo won't return to L2, but he knows Hilde would understand, though she knows him well enough to not need an explanation. The business end bores him; he's just her lead mechanic, really. But he can't wait for much longer, in this polluted city. He has a daily routine: pace the sidewalk from Relena's ambassadorial apartments to the hospital, up to Relena's room to bring her flowers, and down to Heero's room to be turned away.

Each day he hopes, but each day the nurses turn each of them away. None of them are blood relatives or a spouse. The doctors' orders are final, and Duo sometimes considers introducing the doctor to a Gundam pilot's protective, worried rage. Trowa often appears at those points, cool and calm, and it annoys Duo enough to distract him from his impulsive wishes.

The eighth day, they meet with Doctor Boris and two of his associates. It's a small room, on the second floor at the hospital. Duo slouches at the end of the table, staring with glazed eyes at the x-rays, the MRTs, the CAT scans, the pretty glowing pictures with blood clots and fractures that he can barely see. It's all part of the story, the injuries before the miracle, and Duo is impatient to have something concrete.

"You are not allowed to visit Mr Yuy without me present," Doctor Boris is continuing. "Mr Yuy is extremely disoriented, and agitated. His memory loss appears to be severe, but at least the aphasia has resolved itself, although he will still require speech and language therapy. I have, however, figured out a few things, based on his answers to some very simple questions."

Quatre glances at Wufei, who frowns. Duo leans forward. The doctor's not meeting their eyes; he looks nervous, and he clears his throat a few times before speaking.

"Sirs, he thinks he's fourteen, and... that he's being held prisoner by the Alliance." The doctor taps his finger on the charts, as though they hold the proof of this, encrypted in an ancient language only the doctor can decipher. "Mr Yuy has no memories of the past five years, and it's possible he never will."


	2. Dolorous Blow

_"I looked at the man; I saw him plain;_  
_Like a dead weed, gray and wan,_  
 _Or a breath of dust. I looked again—"_  
     —- Madison Cawein

 

 

Duo stares at the picks in his hand, hefting the weight and solidity; the brass sharpness, the flecks of metal plating peeling from the silver. Blue, he decides, and slides the pick into the lock. The tumblers rattle, the wooden door creaks, and swings open under his fingertips. He remembers stories the nuns would read before bed.

"Open sesame," he whispers to the empty apartment.

Relena's directions had been tediously gained, but precise. Only Quatre had had the patience with her struggles, left-handed, to write down what she knew of Heero's life. Duo had not waited, had preferred to go to the ambassadorial residence and pack his few belongings.

Duo frowns, remembering, and steps into the small apartment. The leashes are gone from the door; this means the dog-walker or the upstairs neighbor is out with Heero's dogs. There are mud-caked boots in a small plastic crate by the door, under a table piled with mail. Duo ignores it; Trowa can see to that.

The front room is small; the gray loveseat faces a battered television. The windows are set high, at ground level in the basement apartment; he doubts the intricate bars would be a deterrent to any thief as skilled as he. Bookshelves line the walls between the windows. The books are a riot of colors, typefaces, loud paper and worn leather. He doesn't pause to study them. An empty glass sits on the low table, next to a stack of books. Duo picks up the top book, turning the spine towards the curtained windows. It's a book of French poetry, and he frowns, paging through it, pausing at illuminated images.

He sets it back down, and drifts into the second room, a ghost disturbing dust and dog hairs. The bed is a simple mattress, left on the floor, blanket tousled, pillows scattered. A small lamp rests on the floor; he notes the old laptop sitting nearby. He makes no move to disturb anything. He'll leave that for Trowa.

The third small room holds a table, two chairs, and he realizes the middle room is the only one with a closet. There's food in the fridge, but rotten. He should go shopping while Trowa is at work, he decides. He closes the door, his nose wrinkling at the dirty dishes in the sink. The bathroom is clean but for a dollop of dried shaving cream in the sink; the towels are deep blue. Duo runs his fingers along the towels crumpled into the towel rod.

It's growing dark, and Duo sets his bag down by the bed. The front door creaks open, and he starts, reaching for the gun at the base of his spine. The footstep is familiar, and Duo relaxes, smelling the hint of gun oil and jet fuel. Trowa steps into the bedroom; he's pulling off his jacket and dropping it on the bed. His head is down; he's haggard.

Trowa opens his mouth, as if to speak. His gaze is fixed on a small box on the bedroom's windowsill. Duo frowns, realizing it's one of those picture frames with a folding cover, but he makes no move to pick it up. Trowa closes his eyes, shaking his head with a defeated, tired smile.

Duo cannot bring himself to say anything, to break the moment. They stand, two strangers in Heero's bedroom, as though waiting for Heero's return. The front door clicks, hinges scraping, and both men look up, tensing.

"Just me," someone says, and suddenly there are four dogs surrounding Duo, sniffing him, investigating in a flurry of wagging tails and panting tongues. The young man, in blue jeans and red winter coat and hat, leans into the bedroom, smiling. A fifth dog is behind him, peering at the strangers from between the boy's legs. "I'm Joey. I walk Mr. Yuy's dogs. Mr. Spizzoli said Mr. Yuy isn't going to be back for a while." He gives Trowa a quizzical look. "Are you Mr. Barton?"

"Yes," Trowa says, his voice soft.

"I heard Mr. Yuy was hurt really badly." Joey takes off his cap, scrubbing at short brown hair. "Is he going to be okay?"

"We don't know," Trowa says, and won't say more.

Duo pets the biggest dog, and looks at Joey, waiting. The dog is shaggy and black, with ears cocked up, tongue lolling at the touch.

"That's Brewster," Joey said, with a slight frown, perhaps disappointed by the lack of information. "He was abandoned. The golden retriever is Molly. She was abused, but she seems to be okay now. She has back and hip problems, so don't let her up on the furniture. She won't be able to get down, but I usually find her sleeping on the red pillow on the bed. It's okay if she does that, Mr Yuy told me. The boxer is Buddy. He was thrown out of a car when he was four weeks old. He's six months now, and teething - you can give him ice cubes if he starts chewing on anything."

Duo nods, repeating the names in his head. The dogs swirl around them, black to gold to dark gold tipped with brown. One dog is a brilliant gold-red, and Trowa kneels down to greet him. Duo continues to study the dog-walker, one hand on Brewster's head.

"That crazy one is Rufus. He's an Australian cattle dog. He looks lazy, but he'll herd you in and out of any room when he's in the mood." Joey laughs, and bends down to whistle to Rufus, who's too busy nosing into Duo's bag. The dog's hair is short in patches along his legs and rump; his tail is more skin than fur. "Rufus was kept in a too-small kennel until he was two. He's got a heart murmur and Cushing's disease, but the mange is all cleared up and his sores have healed, so that's good. There's a list in the kitchen of the meds he needs, and when. It's all inside the door of the first cabinet, which is where Mr. Yuy keeps their medicines."

"Okay." Trowa's voice is flat, as though the single word were dragged from him, but Duo is relieved to let Trowa do the talking.

Duo kneels down at Joey's gesture, and waits. Trowa remains standing, but he glances towards the clock by the bed. He probably has to get back to his new job, Duo figures, and knows Trowa won't appreciate any further delay than necessary.

"This is Emily," Joey says, moving out of the doorway to reveal a frightened black Labrador. She's gangly, with big paws that slip on the wooden floors, and she skitters backwards to remain behind Joey. "She was tortured by some kids, but Mr Yuy found her. The rest are part of the local rescue squad rehabilitation program," Joey says, his fingers scratching into Emily's ruff. She moves closer to Joey, and her tail wags slightly, but she never takes her deep brown eyes off Duo. Joey pets her again, coaxing her into the bedroom. "But Emily he found while he was walking the rest of his gang, and I heard... " Joey looks embarrassed. "It's not good to gossip, but I don't believe Mr. Yuy would do something like that. He's a very nice man."

Trowa murmurs something noncommittal, holding out his hand for Emily. She sniffs once, and retreats into the living room.

"She'll hide under the sofa until she's comfortable," Joey says. He stands, brushing off his hands on his jeans. "I've got to run. The information for our service is taped up next to the medications list, and I put up the contact information for Mr. Yuy's vet, and the rescue squad folks. If you have questions, call them. I think Sarah's supposed to be by in two hours to walk them again, unless... " He leaves it hanging.

"That would be good," Trowa says. "They should stay on a regular schedule."

Emily is regarding Duo from under the sofa, wary. Brewster is standing on his foot, leaning into his thigh. Rufus is asleep, using Duo's bag as a pillow. Buddy is chewing on the hem of his jeans, and tugging on his shoelaces; Molly is licking his hand. He feels surrounded.

"We can do that," Joey says. "Mr Spizzoli called my boss when he got the news, and they set it all up. We know Mr Yuy wouldn't want his gang split up."

"Probably better if you could keep walking them until they know me better." Trowa picks up his coat, and walks Joey to the door.

"Yeah, dealing with five at once is a bit much for a newbie," Joey says, unconcerned. He hangs the leashes on the hook by the door and fills out the day's timesheet, leaving it on the table by the front door. Trowa pulls on his coat. They leave together, the door muffling Joey's cheerful chatter.

Duo stares at the four-legged family around him, and wonders what else about his old wartime friend had he missed, in the years gone by.

 

 

 

Trowa's stuff occupies the top right half of the shelf in the closet. Duo considers where to put his own belongings, only to find Buddy has eaten two of his socks. Duo puts his stuff in the bottom of the closet, behind Heero's boxes where Buddy can't get at it.

It's almost dark; Trowa will return in an hour from the position he accepted, temporarily replacing Heero as head of security at the embassy. Duo moves to the living room, but backs away when Emily growls from under the sofa. Rufus leaps up onto the sofa, tail thumping; Brewster joins Rufus and Duo wonders where he would sit, were he to turn on the television.

Another day or two, and Duo will decide what to do with the rest of his time while in Bremen. He's worked his entire life, it seems; yet he cannot bring himself to contemplate such mundane things. He puts it off. Later, he tells himself. He lingers by the phone, noting the lack of messages, and fiddles with his keys. He will visit Heero for the first time in an hour, and he paces the apartment, reluctant, until he ends up by the bookshelves.

Duo frowns, pulling down one title. To Heero, with love, Relena, it says. Another: Happy Freedom Day, from Quatre. And another, with only the date and Wufei's angular signature. There are several from Trowa, on animal care. Duo puts the books back in place, uneasy. There are none from him.

An older book is hidden at the end of the row, a leather spine fraying from handling, and Duo pulls it down. On the inside cover, a spindly hand had written in faded ink: to my dearest scamp. There is no signature. Duo flips through the book, a sorrowful smile gracing his lips. He glances around the small front room; three dogs are sleeping, piled on the sofa. Emily's black tail is visible from underneath; Molly is sitting by the television, watching him curiously.

Duo tucks the book into his jacket pocket, reties his mauled shoelaces, and leaves the apartment. He locks the door behind him, and thinks of the stranger he'd once called a friend.

 

 

 

Dr. Boris isn't around, and the nurses have no time to answer his questions. He glances at the computer screen on the desk: emergency in the pediatric ward. Duo frowns, tempted to wait, but decides against it. He can't go in alone, but he doesn't want to pester the doctor if he's busy with a dire case.

"I'll come back tomorrow," he says, waving over his shoulder.

Down the hall and around the corner, and he pulls out the schedule of rounds he'd lifted from the desk while the nurse was busy looking up the doctor's location. He studies the times, the names, and tucks the paper away.

Outside, the air is cool, thick with earth and the smells of the city, early winter winds chafing his face and tugging on his braid. Duo purchases coffee and prowls the hospital, studying the old building, walking the alleyways. He thinks of Heero, walking four dogs but stopping to rescue a fifth. He thinks of street kids, tormenting an animal for their own entertainment. He thinks of white knights and helpless maidens, but the maiden is small and black, with large brown eyes that begged for peace.

Two hours, three cups of coffee, and Duo pisses in the alley rather than show his face in the hospital again. He lets his braid slither down his back, inside his jacket, and zips up the leather. Checking his tools, he climbs up on a dumpster, and from there to the first level of windows.

The city does not echo like a colony; it's a place of dark noise, running under Duo's harsh breathing as he spider-walks the wall. Car horns, traffic, a siren in the distance; laughter from the coffee shop's outside stand down at the mouth of the alley. Someone rides a bike across the battered alley pavement, two floors below Duo. He grits his teeth, hooks his fingers over the window ledge, and pulls himself up higher.

He reviews his memories, certain he's at the proper window, and checks the security latch. Easily navigated, the lock pops and the window slides open. The curtains are not drawn. By moonlight and the slurring hush of machines pumping blood, medicines, draining fluids, he drops into the room, crouched by the window.

There's movement at the bed, quick, startled. Duo rises, sliding the window shut all but an inch. He ghosts towards the bed, settling comfortably into the chair set as though it were waiting for a guest. The occupant of the bed is awake, sitting halfway up, eyes dark holes in the blue city light.

"Hey, Heero," Duo whispers. He coils his muscles, braced to leap away despite noting the restraints on Heero's wrists and upper arms. The leather and metal is heavy, but the bed's guards shown signs of bending. Heero shifts, his knees coming up protectively; the sheets glow white in the light of the monitor over the bed.

"Who you are," Heero says, hoarse and tight.

"Duo." He waits, not sure, and studies Heero's expression; the gaze towards the window, back to the door.

"Get out me," Heero tells him. "I need to... I'm... " He stops, frown chasing confusion across his face.

"Prisoner," Duo whispers, a question.

"Pie pan," Heero replies, nodding. "I need to... "

"You can't, buddy, not yet," Duo says. He shifts in the chair; his skin crawls from tracking the words and quicksilver frowns. Carefully, slowly, he pulls the book from his pocket. "Recognize this?"

Heero's eyes narrow, and he lunges. Metal scrapes, groans, and Heero falls back, panting. His gaze darts between the book and Duo.

"You how did that get," Heero spits. He rattles the restraints, and Duo tenses, listening for footsteps, voices in the hall. No one comes. Heero leans forward again, grunting at the effort. "Mine, that's, my that's—"

"Book," Duo says, and nods. He flips the book open, tilting it to let the blue moonlight run down the page, filling the white spaces between the black ink. "It's your book. I have it. I can't get you out of here, not yet. They can take better care of you than we can. It's only for a little while... "

Heero starts to speak, then freezes. He shakes for a moment, and gives Duo a puzzled look, melting into suspicion. "Are you who," he says, his eyes wide, almost scared.

Duo blinks, intuitively leaping after Heero's question, and gives Heero a smile. "Duo," he says again. "I'm on your side."

"Alley-way," Heero asks, a hesitant question.

"I came down... " Duo pauses, seeing Heero's cocked head, intent expression. No, Duo thinks; this is not literal. This is sound, this is a break between what is said and heard, what is thought and said. He recalls the doctors' distant rumbling: neuronal shearing, axial injury. Duo gives Heero a quick shrug. "Yeah. Allies."

"Alley-way," Heero repeats, then sees the book. His eyes go wide. "Mine," he says, hoarse and frightened. "My that's—"

"Your book," Duo agrees, holding it up. The leather is oily from years of hands, fingerprints across the surface; it glistens dully in the half-light. "See, I have this. So it's cool, right?"

"You have this," Heero says, and shakes his head. "Duo. Duo. Duo."

Duo draws in breath, hissing. If Heero begins to panic, there's nothing he can do but flee and try again later, or not at all. He's read the records, he's done his research, he's done his best to listen when the doctors spoke, but it's not the same, seeing Heero, tied down and glowing white in a simple gown and sheets, surrounded by machines.

He thinks of the book in his hand, the stories he could tell. Heero is not sleeping, nor is he dreaming. Heero is lost. Duo wishes for breadcrumbs.

"Shh," Duo whispers, coaxing. "Just lie back, and listen."

He looks at the page, and takes a deep breath, letting the words resolve themselves into sense. A glance up, and he sees Heero is watching, mouth open, brow furrowed. Heero waits, and Duo acknowledges the moment before bending his head to read the small, antique letters.

"Once upon a time," Duo reads, "A King was once hunting in a great wood, and he hunted the game so eagerly that none of his courtiers could follow him. When evening came on he stood still and looked round him, and he saw that he had quite lost himself. He sought a way out, but could find none... "

He reads until his throat is sore. Heero is asleep, on his side, face turned towards Duo, a smile on his lips. Duo stands. Heero comes instantly awake, dark eyes tracking Duo's movements.

"Are you who," Heero whispers, arms jerking sleepily against the restraints. "You part earth... shit," he mutters, shaking his head, frustrated. "Shit, shit."

"Duo. I'm an ally," Duo says. "Shh, Heero."

"Why you leave soon," Heero says, breaking off his soft berating. He struggles to sit up, but freezes when Duo puts out a hand. "Who you... "

"I'll be back before you know it," Duo assures him, and slides the window open. The book is safe in his pocket, and he checks the clock on the wall before dropping out the window in a controlled leap. The night nurses' footsteps are a distant echo. Duo catches his weight with his fingers on the sill. Shoving up with his boots toed against the concrete, he shuts the window over his head.

Duo lowers his weight, and begins the climb back down to the alley. He thinks of the words: alley, ally. He thinks of the king, lost in the wood with no path home. He thinks of Heero, dark eyes watching him from the darkness. He pays no mind to the sting of the wind pushing water across his cheek. The concrete is dry, but he's certain it must be raining.


	3. Make Broad Thy Shoulders

_"And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,_  
_Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,_  
 _Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang"_  
     --- Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

 

Duo sleeps during the day, while Trowa works. The time passes in half-light, curtains drawn, and he dreams of swans and princesses. When he wakes, he can hear the leashes slapping against the wall, settling into place. The front door shuts, locks, and then there's the click of paws against wooden floors. Molly returns to her pillow, nuzzling Duo's face before lying down, the broad sweep of her golden tail thumping gently on his chest.

He gets up when a neighbor's footsteps echo in the hall, coming home from work. He showers, shaves, dresses; he stands over the laptop, reading emails, not bothering to answer. The dogs weave between his legs, mutters and snorts and light growls, demanding his attention.

He checks the list of medications, but Trowa's neat hand has marked off the pills for the day, a reference for the dog-walkers, the neighbor, whomever else might be moving through this apartment of no pictures and too many books. Duo wanders from the front room to the back again, into the kitchen, through the bedroom, aimless. In the living room, Emily watches from under the sofa, her gaze never leaving him, and he sits for a long time with his back against the wall, watching her in return.

Brewster sleeps on the sofa, snoring with his nose pressed against a pillow; Buddy is curled in the small spot between Brewster's legs and the end of the sofa. Rufus sits next to Duo, then leans into him. For so long, Duo has had no time, no energy for anything but the endless artificial days of engines, spare parts, metal that cuts his palms and grease that turns his fingernails to black half-moons. There has been no one to lean against him, but Rufus is patient; warm weight against Duo's chest. The dog's breath is hot and fast on Duo's arm, and Duo scratches Rufus absently, watching Emily watch him.

At length he stands, stretches, and the dogs cluster around him, eager for a walk. Duo hesitates, then decides. If nothing else, he tells himself, he can practice. There is something Heero learned, in the absence of their friendship, that Duo did not teach. He wonders what he hadn't known, what emptiness they had not filled that let the distance be so easily accepted.

Perhaps, he muses, he should learn it, himself.

He collects the leashes, seeing the names machine-embroidered in stylized patterns, and hooks up each dog. He's surprised that even Emily consents to his nearness long enough to be leashed. He opens the door and lets the five dogs lead him to the park.

 

 

 

He speaks to no one while he walks. Duo knows Hilde would not believe it, nor would those who insist they know him best. He doesn't want to laugh, to joke, to pretend; he wants to accept the silence of twilight, stretching shadows across the bike path. The dogs move at their own pace; Brewster and Molly the slowest, Rufus leading forward and back, around and tangling the leashes until Duo is tied in knots.

Emily hovers close to Buddy, who digs for a few seconds, sniffs intently, barks at Duo, and dashes off to find a new spot. Emily remains, frightened, regarding Duo with a puzzled look as though she's waiting for something. He calls her name and she flinches.

He wonders what is required to gain trust from something that cannot speak.

 

 

 

The movie is predictable, but Duo doesn't mind; the theater is a place of warmth and darkness to wait for the right time. The pretty girl and chiseled-jaw hero have the same choices, the same words, the same story; help comes at the right time, the war ending in peace for the good guys. Duo's memories of war have only blood, too-young faces, desperation, and a singular princess who now lies in traction. It's the painful consequence of heartbreak that the stories never tell.

Outside the hospital, he once again considers and impulsively discards the option to meet with Heero while a doctor is present. He avoids the main doors, turns, heads down the alley. In the early night, the streetlights cut a beam of bright, angling across the sidestreet, leaving the rest in pitch-black. The shadows wreath him in darkness; he scales the walls easily.

He thinks of the book in his jacket pocket, and the story he will tell. He thinks of the dogs, waiting at home for Trowa's return after dinner, and the story they might tell. He thinks of his fingers, digging into the crevice between concrete and mortar, and the story he'll never tell.

 

 

 

Heero comes awake when Duo slips through the window. This night, a soft light glows near the bed. It illuminates Heero's face and shoulders, a soft golden wash across his skin, turning the paper-white hospital gown to cream. The right side of Heero's face is calm, impassive; the left side is frightened, worried. Heero's face shifts and reacts, his shoulders hunching. Duo realizes that the right side is always a half-beat behind. That shoulder not as high, the rattling restraint not as loud.

Duo settles into the chair, and pulls out his braid, draping it over his chest.

"I'm Duo," he says, and Heero frowns, an uneven scowl. Duo brings out the book. "Recognize this?"

"My book," Heero replies, eyes wide. He reaches, caught back by the restraints, and gives Duo an angry look. "Skylight! Skylight!" He glares at the restraints, his voice a hissing whisper. "Skylight!"

Again Duo must leap after Heero's mind, trusting the sense and not the sound. He understands, and gives Heero a small, unhappy smile.

"I can't undo that, Heero," he says. "You're safe here. These people can take care of you."

"Stairs fall down," Heero tells him, eyes narrowed, gaze darting between the door, the window. He twitches, awkward jerks, before Duo realizes Heero is trying to see the machines over his shoulder. Heero ducks his head, whispering intently. "Stairs, remember, running mission practice. But, here no tells. Get out here."

"You remember falling down the stairs... " Duo says, piecing the images together, following the bits of candy and apple laid before him. "A practice mission, and you fell?"

Heero nods abruptly, his good shoulder lurching with the motion. He glares at the book in Duo's hand, but the glare slides away as Heero jerks upright, restraints beating against the bars.

"Who are," Heero says, panting. "Not tell anything!"

"Shh," Duo replies, seeing the shift, the recognition gone instantly. He holds up the book, and begins again. Every tale is the same, but only the opening lines. From there, the boy may win his love, or the girl may win her freedom. "You know this book? This means you can trust me. I'm Duo."

"Duo," Heero repeats, and chews his lower lip, just the left side of his mouth. Uneven, hesitant; he glances around, tries to lean forward. "Get out me," he pleads. "Want home."

"Not yet," Duo tells him. "Nothing will happen to you here. You'll get better, and then you can leave."

"Butter, bread," Heero says, unconvinced. "Mission dangles rustic had, not tell earth... shit!" He frowns, clenches his left fist. His right hand tightens, then loosens. "Shit, shit, shit--"

"Earth," Duo repeats, puzzled, heart rushing, breath coming fast. He can't keep up, leaping along the precipices of Heero's words. "Earth Sphere Alliance?"

Heero nods, and brings up his hands. He can raise them only a few inches from the bar, his fists at chest-height as he sits in the bed.

"No, you're not being held by them," Duo says. "This hospital is... an ally."

"Eyeball?" Heero looks surprised. "Eyeball," he murmurs, staring down at his arms. He shakes his head. "Drugs, want interrupt," and Duo is uncertain; the words slur in Heero's lips, trapped by unwilling muscles. "Practice mission end stairs, report base."

Always the mission, Duo sighs, and manages a smile. "No, Heero," in the gentlest tone he can manage. "You don't need to report in." He remembers the stories, whispered at night in dorm rooms, across ten feet, ten miles between strangers. "That's what I'm here for. Every night, you report to me, and I'll pass the word along." He's not sure what they're telling Heero during the day, but interrogation would have been his first fear at fourteen, too.

Then again perhaps that is where his likeness to Heero might end. He opens the book to the second story.

"There was once upon a time an old king who was ill and thought to himself, 'I am lying on what must be my deathbed'," Duo read. "Then he said, 'tell Faithful John to come to me.' Faithful John was his favorite servant, and was so called, because he had for his whole life long been so true to the king."

 

 

 

The days stretch cold into winter, frost on the panes when Duo closes the curtains. Every morning he returns to find them open, dawn glittering on the patterns, crystal shattering early light. He closes them, crouches down to greet Emily in her place under the sofa, and crawls into bed. Some mornings the bed is warm, perhaps from Trowa; some mornings it's perhaps from the dogs.

Mid afternoon, he wakes, showers, walks the dogs, and leaves for downtown. The cab ride is ten minutes, and he doesn't care about the expense. The minutes pass; he watches the city roll past him and he lets it go. Stories echo in his head, and he thinks of the girl draped in the donkey skin, the boy with the goose under his arm. Children, lost in the wood, and if not for the taxi driver, Duo could not find his way home.

Relena is doing better, he hears, and he sends flowers. Quatre is back at work, but keeps in touch with email and news; Wufei has accepted an assignment out of the country but emails when he can. None speak of Duo's failure to visit Heero. They are patient, accepting that he will go when he is ready.

He never sees Trowa; their schedules miss each other, until a day two weeks after they began to share Heero's apartment, trading off days and nights. Duo is in the living room when Trowa leaves the bedroom. Duo still wearing his jacket, nose cold, lips chapped from the morning chill. He's emptied his pockets on the table and is unzipping his jacket.

Trowa pauses at the door, hand on the doorknob, and stares down at the book, a thin line between his brows. He picks up the book, flips it open, and smiles at the pages. Duo tenses; he and Trowa have never been close, and the extended close quarters worries him sometimes. He fears his presence annoys Trowa too much, so he's been keeping his distance. He hadn't meant to arrive back so early, before Trowa had left for work. But Trowa's smile catches him off-guard, so Duo doesn't apologize. He simply waits.

"I know these stories," Trowa murmurs, and sets the book back down. He picks up his briefcase and leaves; the smile lingers on his lips, tinged with sadness.

Duo remains, the book momentarily forgotten on the table.

 

 

 

Three weeks have passed, Duo realizes, seeing a string of lights in a shop window. Soon, the year will end and take with it all the days and nights, into a new beginning.

The street lamps blink out, caught in the beams of an oncoming car, then flicker into life as Duo passes beneath them. He watches his breath form before him, passing through the smoke. It disperses behind him. At the hospital, he picks the lock and slips through the basement service door, moving down empty hallways. His passage is silent, a breath of air that dissipates at the sound of approaching footsteps, and no one knows when he has come and gone.

No one but the boy in room 417-B, who is awake and waiting.

"Duo," says the boy, a young man with a boy's half-smile. Duo is taken aback, startled to hear his name before he's spoken.

"Heero," Duo replies, and sits in the chair that always seems to be ready for him. He brings out the book, and checks his place, but does not read. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Heero tells him, gravely. He frowns, and looks pointedly towards the door. "Doctors question, soon get out?"

"Soon," Duo promises. "They can help you here. This hospital is the best."

"Say hospital, but feels prison," Heero retorts, but it's a mild grumble. His hands clatter when he tries to cross his arms, and he sulks. "Want home."

"I know, and they'll... " Duo catches himself. The story isn't the same if he changes even a word. "We want you to come home soon, too. But you just have to trust us."

"Jay," Heero says, ducking his head. His fingers play across the blankets; he's sitting almost cross-legged. His left shoulder is lower, his left arm moves in soft gestures while his right arm swings up, making the metal clash against the hospital bed's bars. "Mad me," he murmurs, a forlorn tone. "Always mad if fail... "

"Doctor J," Duo realizes, tracking the words, inserting the lead frame between the bright words of Heero's stained-glass speech. "He's not mad at you. He's... proud of you." Duo stares down at the book, recalling the dedication, and Relena's words from years before. "He calls you his scamp."

Heero flushes. His smile turns impish.

"How did you get that nickname?" Duo knows he's leaving the story behind. He's asking for a fairy godmother, an old woman on the road, a kindly peasant, invoking one where none will appear. He promises himself that later he will find a way to create that magic, if he can hear Heero's answer.

Heero only shrugs, but he looks pleased with himself. His blue eyes glitter under his eyelashes, watching Duo carefully. Duo brings one ankle up to rest it on his knee, settling back, and Heero flinches at the movement. His gaze never leaves Duo, and for a long moment, Duo watches Heero, watching him.

Finally Duo drops his gaze, and opens the book.

"There was once a wizard who used to take the form of a poor man, and went to houses and begged, and caught pretty girls," he reads. "No one knew whither he carried them, for they were never seen again. Then one day, he appeared before the door of a man who had three pretty daughters."

 

 

 

A week of stories pass, a week of cold nights and empty hallways, of computers whirring at the business center while Duo tweaks the design on one of his projects for Hilde. He reviews the metrics and considers the shape of circuits, beams of light, story-bound. He carries the book with him everywhere. While the system processes, beeps, a low hum of electricity carrying his design into three dimensions, he reads by the light of the screen.

At midnight he takes his mid-shift break, waving to the night guard, the slim volume in his jacket pocket. The usual cab is waiting outside, and Duo says nothing to the driver; he would open his mouth and speak of gyroscopic bulkheads and bolts of silk that weave themselves while the household sleeps.

The hospital sleeps, nurses drowsing at their stations, and none see Duo pass, a shape in black, braid swaying behind him. At Heero's room, the door is open, the low night-light on. Heero is awake, anxious.

"Duo!" Heero bursts out. He struggles with the restraints, his right arm barely moving. He kicks with his left leg, and metal creaks. "Duo," Heero says again, beckoning frantically.

"Heero, shh," Duo says, and for once he comes to stand close to the bed. Heero's hair is wild, his eyes angry and intense. "What's wrong?"

"War," Heero tells him. "Today the doctors told war," the words dropping away in the rush of his fear and anger. "Told them not war, but say four years and don't recall that long." He drops his chin, his eyes fixed on Duo, narrowed, furious. "Not stupid. I've trained, and know when I'm giving drugs. You have get out!"

"Shh," Duo replies, his hand falling on Heero's arm. "Quiet. If you speak loudly, the nurses will hear you and I'll have to leave."

"Please take," Heero cries, grabbing for Duo. "Leave, don't."

"I'm not, just calm down." Duo can't think.

He doesn't know where the trail leads, and he thinks of Heero's stories, the times he's read out loud while Heero drowsed into sleep, a childish smile on his lips. He realizes he has no happy ending, or perhaps this is the story where there is none. Duo looks down to see Heero is grasping his hand, tightly, white-knuckled, but it does not hurt. Heero does not have the strength back, yet.

"You're them with," Heero says, when Duo doesn't respond. He jerks his hand away, but Duo catches it.

"Heero," Duo says, with a sigh. "You were trained to fly a Gundam."

"Wing," Heero replies, eyes wide, stunned.

"I'm the pilot of Deathscythe," Duo tells him, desperate under a veneer of calm. "I was trained by one of the scientists, too."

"Train car," Heero spits, pulling back, shaking his head. "Train car!"

Duo blinks, hesitates, and listens; Heero's face is closed-down, on guard. His hands form claws, ready to defend. The muscles quiver under Heero's skin, one shoulder held higher. The left side of Heero's face is inscrutable, but for the furrow between the brows; the right side mirrors it exactly. Expression gone, stony; betrayal is hiding in the set of the down-turned mouth.

Traitor, it says.

"No," Duo tells him, but Heero won't look his way. "I'm one of the good guys. I'm on your side."

Heero doesn't respond, his gaze fixed on a point across the room. Duo reaches into his jacket, and pulls out the book. He sets it on the bed, in Heero's lap, but Heero doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge him.

"I'm sorry," Duo whispers, aching in the silence. "I'll leave now."

He walks slowly, just in case, but Heero doesn't call him back.


	4. Left the Merry Tale

_On the fairest time of June_  
_You may go, with sun or moon,_  
 _Or the seven stars to light you_  
     —- John Keats

 

 

Nights pass, days of staring at the ceiling in the apartment empty but for Duo and the five dogs. He's learning to understand their expressions, to see the dynamic between them. He tells them stories, the ones he meant to tell Heero. They have no answer when he wonders out loud if he should return.

A week, and Duo cannot continue: cannot wander the city, cannot drink coffee at an all-night bar, cannot watch people laugh and talk. He would stay, in the afternoon, to wait for Trowa, but he's seen the schedule posted on the cabinet door. Trowa spends an hour with Heero in the morning, then an hour with Relena, then nine hours at work, and back to the hospital again. Duo would not impose on Trowa further.

He stares at the books on the shelves, and knows he must pay his own penance. Emily watches him from under the sofa, wary, but no longer growling. He whispers to her, and sometimes her tail wags, but she has no answer, either.

The silence eats Duo from the inside, and he dreams he can hear Heero calling for him to finish the story. When Duo wakes, twilight fills the apartment. He opens the curtains to see the sun leaving the land. He takes his jacket, and lets himself out of the apartment.

 

 

 

No one notices his passing through the hallways, and Duo knows the patterns of the hospital well enough to keep it that way. He's not sure of the doctors' decisions, though he's read the emails and is aware of some small progress.

He thinks, as he walks, passing room numbers and names he doesn't recognize, that he doesn't understand his self-imposed isolation. But he does, too; he's read it in the stories. The long journey, and the kindness of strangers - these are how the prince finds his beloved.

He's surprised to find Heero awake and waiting, when he arrives.

"Hey," Duo says, from the doorway. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Better," Heero replies. He stares down at his hands, then up at Duo. "Doctors show newspaper, television reports." He frowns. "I not recall anything. Sometimes think lying."

"It must be scary," Duo says, coming closer. He settles down on the chair, still in its spot by the bed. He sees the book sitting on the bedside table, and takes it, flipping through the pages to the spot he'd marked. Heero's eyes light up. "We hadn't finished reading," Duo tells him. "And you never told me how you got to be called a scamp."

"Oh." Heero frowns, raising one hand; the restraints are still there. It saddens Duo. Heero sees Duo's glance, and tugs at the chain. "They not let me free." He sighs. "You report, tell J not give in. Pass test."

"First, you answer my question," Duo parries. He digs through his memories, and brings out a smile, tries it on. "Are you going to tell me?"

Heero hesitates, studying Duo carefully, before a shy smile curves up one corner of his mouth. "J drinks much coffee. Mechanics complaining grumpy, jiggly."

"Jittery?" Duo guesses.

"Jiggly," Heero says, nodding. "Put salt coffee beans."

Duo gapes, then grins widely. "Not bad. Did you get caught?"

Heero snorts.

"Good for you," Duo says. "Man, wish you'd told me this when... " His voice fades, and Heero looks puzzled. "Nothing," Duo says, shrugging. "You do anything else?"

"Sneak out," Heero confides. "Like see movies the base. Got through exit door, then hid back." He smiles, a mischievous, pleased look. "Favorites ones wizards dragons."

"Did you see the one with the princess with the fireballs?" Duo is entranced; Heero nods. Duo fingers the volume in his hand. "G had that one in the video collection. I watched it with the Sweepers. I preferred the ones with fast cars and lots of explosions."

Heero rolls his eyes. "Boring."

"Maybe for you!" Duo shrugs, grinning slyly. "So you also misbehaved when the head guy wasn't looking, hunh."

"Not all time," Heero says, frowning a little; the glare is softened by the impassive half of his face. He looks amused, instead. "Difficult only boy around many grown men, sometimes."

"Yeah." Duo sighs, and impulsively decides to tell a story of his own, in return. "I used to change the training program so I was shooting at Leos with G's face."

"No," Heero says, his eyes widening, then he smirks. His voice drops to a whisper. "Once changed training disk watched favorite movie instead. J yelled when found, but already watched." Heero's smile grew. "Five times."

Duo laughs softly. "I wish I'd known you then," he muses.

"Know me now," Heero replies, puzzled, and stares past Duo towards the door. "True? Many years pass, but... " He chews his lower lip, and raises a hand, jerking at the restraint. "They lock up night. Far concerned, says aren't speaking truth."

"It is true," Duo whispers. "It's been four years. J is dead, Heero. He died during the war."

"No," Heero protests. "Can't—"

"I don't lie," Duo says. He opens the book, and glances down at the page. "We haven't finished all the stories."

Heero nods, and settles down in the bed. It takes some effort to uncurl his right leg, but he manages. When he's comfortable, he gives Duo an expectant look, which becomes something else, something Duo cannot identify.

"Glad came back," Heero says, his gaze dropping away from Duo. His slim fingers pluck at the blanket, a childish manner in a young man's body. "Haven't decided to believe doctors. I... " His hands drop into his lap, and his shoulders slump. "Can't believe everything gone, and can't remember any it. Seen pictures, read news reports, but not real." He glances at Duo, tentative, then away. "You're real."

"Oh." Duo smiles, flattered, and a little scared.

He clears his throat, not sure what to say. Instead, he glances down at the page. The ink is dark, scattered marks of darkness; his finger marking his place is callused, rough beside the pristine paper.

"There was once a king's son, who was no longer content to stay at home in his father's house. As he had no fear of anything, he thought, I shall go forth into the wide world. There the time will not seem long to me, and I shall see wonders enough."

 

 

 

He no longer counts the days or nights, although he sees the people in the street carrying packages, arms of gifts. Duo wonders what Heero had wanted, as a boy, if he had wanted anything. He thinks of goose eggs and talking cats, but the rug in the shop display isn't the kind that would fly.

Instead, he returns, slipping through the darkened hallways, cloaked in black. His boots make no sound but Heero always comes awake at his arrival. Some nights there are no words, and Heero studies him, intent, settling back to listen when Duo begins to read.

Tonight, Heero is tired, and shakes his head at Duo's greeting. He is twisted away from the door, upset, but won't say why. Duo waits, but Heero doesn't speak. Duo sighs, and opens the book.

"Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen, who were rich, and had everything they wanted, but no children. The queen lamented over this day and night, and said, I am like a field on which nothing grows. At last God gave her her wish, but when the child came into the world, it did not look like a human child, but an ugly dog."

Heero bangs against the bed's frame, startling Duo into silence.

"Dogs," Heero says, his eyes wide. His right hand shakes, falls; his left hand is clenched in a fist. "Dogs. Pictures showed, there dogs."

"You have five of them," Duo whispers. He clutches the book, uncertain. "Molly, Brewster, Buddy, Rufus, and Emily."

"Emily," Heero repeats. "Black dog."

"Yes," and Duo sets down the book in his lap, gripping the chair instead. His hands are shaking. "Do you remember?"

"Just... " Heero frowns, and tries to raise his hands, but they catch halfway. He explodes in fury, ripping at the restraints, pulling with all his force. The metal shrieks, groans, and bends from his strength. "Shit!" He screams, kicking with his good leg; he curls over, hands digging at his scalp. "Shit, shit, fuck—"

"Heero," Duo cries, but softly. He glances towards the hallway. No one is coming, but Heero is kicking madly at the blankets, his arms flying about, beating on the railing. "Heero, calm down, someone's going—"

"Fuck!" Heero arches his back, his face towards the ceiling. His eyes are wide and glassy. "Remember bits pieces nothing makes sense. Like dream nightmare what hell wrong head!" He shakes his head, curling over again to rip at his hair, beat against his head with his fists.

"Stop, stop," Duo protests, reaching for Heero's hands. "Please, don't do that, you'll—"

He yanks his hands free, and twists, trying to turn his back on Duo.

"Heero?" Duo is confused. He wishes he could remember the words, the open sesame, the rumplestiltskin, the answer to the riddle. He would repeat it, breaking the spell, but Heero's shoulders quiver, then shake. "Heero?"

"Go away," Heero moans. "Head hurts."

"Should I come back—"

"Go away!"

Duo balks, then sighs, setting the book down on the table. There's another book there, as well, and he pauses long enough to note it's larger, with a green leather cover. But he doesn't linger; quick footsteps are rushing down the hallway, and Duo slides away through the shadows rather than be caught.

At the entrance to the ward, he turns, watching the nurses enter and leave Heero's room. Under his breath, he tells the rest of the story, and hopes that Heero can hear, will remember, will awaken from his dream, his nightmare, his story without a happy ending.

 

 

 

"There was once a rich man, who had a servant who served him diligently and honestly. He was every morning the first out of bed, and the last to go to rest at night. Whenever there was a difficult job to be done, which nobody cared to undertake, he was always the first to set himself to it."

Duo pauses, turning the page.

"Duo," Heero says, the first time - since that frustrating night - that he's interrupted a story. He waits until Duo looks up from the book. "Undo me?"

"I shouldn't," Duo says, but finds himself picking the lock with skillful fingers. Heero stares down at his bare forearms, and holds out his hand, palm up; Duo gives him the book.

In the soft glow of the nightlight, Heero bends over the book, opening it to the inside page. He stares at the dedication, his lips moving soundlessly; he runs his finger across the writing. The light shatters in the tears, caught in long eyelashes. He blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut, and lowers the book to his lap.

"Know all these stories," Heero says. He lays his hand flat on the book, and looks at Duo, who hovers over him, worried. Heero smiles, one end of his mouth curling up, the other just barely. "I don't know face, but now do know your voice. These your stories too, now."

"Heero?" Duo reaches for the book, but Heero shakes his head. "Don't you want me to finish? So you can find out what happens?"

"Know what happens," Heero says. He sighs. "Who are you?"

"Duo Maxwell," Duo says, promptly. "I piloted Deathscythe during the war."

"And after the war?"

"I went to L2, to work with my friend Hilde." Duo drops his chin. "I came back when you needed me. After that, you didn't need me. Until... "

"I think would always need... " Heero frowns, and sets the slim leather-bound book on the bedside table. He opens the drawer, and pulls out the dark green book that Duo had seen once before. "Look this," Heero says, opening it. "These... Trowa, during the day, tells me things." The sideways smile is quick, lightening flash behind windows. "Different stories."

Duo leans against the bed railing, looking at the pictures. Heero flips the pages, pausing at some, skipping others without a second glance. There are pictures from between the wars. One picture is of Heero and Trowa, the summer after the one-day war. Heero stops, his hand splayed across the photograph, as if trying to hold the memory.

"This is from zoo," Heero says, his tone grave. "Trowa told me. Visited. That bird, there." He taps his finger on the bird in the picture, behind the two young men. The men's expressions are cheerless, two crows among the birds of paradise.

"Heero," Duo protests.

"Shh," Heero tells him, but a glimpse of that mercurial smile softens the reprimand. "My story. It's turn to listen."

Duo nods, and sits back down, pulling the chair closer to the bed. He leans over the rail, watching Heero's fingers smooth down the edges of the photograph.

"Once upon a time," Heero recites, "there were two people who loved each other very much. But one died, and the other mourned for a long time. He did not see his other friends, and he shut himself away, missing the one who mattered to him so much." He held his finger down on the bird's image, as though pressing it deep, imprinting it on the whorls of his words. Heero lifted his hand, and turned the page, his gaze running across the pictures as though searching. "Eventually gods took pity on him. They turned friends into birds, so could forever be happy."

Duo frowns. The story doesn't make sense to him, even though he's grown accustomed to the telegraphic speech of Heero's injuries.

"That is story Trowa told me today," Heero explains. He pauses on a picture of all five pilots, at the end of the second war, and stares for a long minute. "I remember today, and yesterday. I remember a month, days, and sometimes see in my head pieces of stories."

"Oh." Duo isn't sure what to say, but he accepts the photograph album. He rests it in his lap, the leather heavy, a scent of chemicals and paste and paper, the faint wrinkle of ink and gun oil and jet fuel teasing him. "You don't remember... "

"Doctors say I won't," Heero says. His voice is flat, but calm. He stares at Duo, and in the light, his eyes are too blue, too like the night sky outside the window, the faintest hint of dawn crisping the winter edges of the buildings. "I probably never. Always for me, one day fourteen, and the next day, eighteen."

Duo manages a smile. "I like you at fourteen, Heero."

"I like at eighteen," Heero replies. In the cryptic shorthand, Duo understands that Heero speaks of both of them.

"Perhaps it's better to not know all the stories," Duo whispers.

"I know the stories," Heero says, shaking his head.

He twists on the bed, grunting quietly at the effort of moving his right leg, shifting his right arm. He hooks his legs through the bars, letting his bare feet swing. Heero leans over the railing, and presses his lips against Duo's forehead. The touch is cool, a small puff of warm breath as Heero pulls away.

"I know the stories of you, too," Heero adds.

Duo's eyes go wide, and he stares down at the album in his hands. This is when the princess has awoken, if the stories are true. When the young man understands the secret behind the magical beans; when the old king reveals the door leading out of the underworld.

"Who are you?" Heero's whisper is a faint caress.

"I can't tell you," Duo murmurs, risking a glimpse at Heero's face. Heero's brow is furrowed, then it smoothes, hint of a smile. "But if you look, you'll find me."

"I looked." Heero taps on the photo album. "You in there, and in here," and he presses his palm against his heart.

"I didn't want you to forget me," Duo explains. "But I didn't know what else to do."

"Am glad," Heero says. He sighs, staring down at the book in Duo's lap. "Does this mean have to leave?"

"Yeah." Duo nods, shakily, and looks up at Heero's sorrowful expression. "I'm glad I got to see you again."

"I'm glad you came back," Heero replies. "I not want to live, forgetting... "

"Promise me," Duo says. "Promise me you won't do that again. That you won't give up and not care, that you'll keep living."

Heero is silent for a long time, long enough for stories to be told and heard and forgotten. He leans over the railing and places his hand on the photograph album.

"I promise," he says, staring into Duo's eyes. There are a hundred stories there, scattered bits of highwaymen and eagles, bolts of silk and deep forests, princesses and flying carpets. They fall apart, fractured; coming together to pour down Heero's cheeks in a new shape. The stories end on his chin, drip down onto his hand. "I promise," he whispers.

"I don't know if you'll live happily ever after," Duo says. "I don't know how the story ends. But I didn't want to be forgotten."

"Never," Heero says.

 

 

 

In the morning, Trowa arrives before breakfast, to find Heero sitting up, his back to the door. His arms are free, and Trowa pauses, confused.

"Good morning, Heero," he says, setting his briefcase on the chair.

Heero doesn't turn around, and Trowa frowns, uncertain. He leans over, to see Heero has the photograph album open, on his lap. It's not what he expected; Heero has been nothing but recalcitrant about looking at his own history, for months now.

"Heero? Are you... " His words trail off at the sight of tears on Heero's face. Trowa unhooks the bed's rails, and sits down next to Heero. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Heero says. He stares down at the image of two boys, one smiling, one simply looking pleased and a bit amused.

"I'm sorry you'll never remember him," Trowa says, quietly. "We can tell you all the stories, but it won't be the same. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Heero gently closes the album. "I have stories of my own."


	5. Postscript

I figured I'd explain this since now a number of people have had some of the same questions. I guess it might be a weakness that the story doesn't answer all of these questions, but since I had it in *my* head, oh, what the hell. (As opposed to stories where I can't tell you the answers, because I honestly don't know.)

First, the stories are all the first paragraphs from a number of well-known fairy tales, like Donkeyskin, The Twelve Princesses, The King's Son Who Feared Nothing, The Jew among Thorns, and East of the Sun, West of the Moon. A number of them I snagged from the online translations of the Brothers Grimm.

Second, Duo probably died somewhere within six months after the Mariemaia War. I don't know how or why, but there are hints (if very subtle) that Heero's despondency over losing his best friend is part of what may have caused the car accident. Duo does extract that promise in the last chapter, after all.

And third, about the title. The story Trowa told Heero was that of the Kingfisher, also known as Halycon. In that bizarre way of Greek myths, Halycon's lover died at sea, and she stayed on the shore, pining for him. So the gods turned she and her lover into birds so they could forever be together. When the kingfisher returns to nest on shore, those are the Halycon days, when the sea is supposed to be peaceful. However, there's a second play on the title, using the legend of the Fisher King. In the Parsifal myth (an amalgamation of Grail stories), the key is that Parsifal has to ask the proper question of the wounded king. "What is the grail", "Who is the grail", etc. This is why Heero keeps asking 'who are you?' - yes, it plays into the anterograde amnesia, but if you see Heero as the fool/innocent (not Duo, who is more of a jester and the jester is never a fool), then Duo becomes the wounded king.

When Heero asks, for the last time, who are you? Duo's answer is very similar to the answer given by the Fisher King, who is the keeper of the grail. It's only once the wise fool asks the proper question that the wounded king is healed (although in some cases his healing takes the form of dying/moving on). In this question-answer, Parsifal becomes the new fisher king, the new keeper of the grail, and is now a true wise fool - that is, an innocent who _understands_.


End file.
